INGREDIENTS: 1 cup white sugar
At this very moment in a room on a mysterious cruise ship, Ned was 29 years, 38 weeks, 28 days, and 5 minutes old, and wondering why he was not home instead. He'd never had anything against cruise ships in his life until he'd reacquainted himself with one Lonely Tourist, Charlotte Charles, who'd died on one. Charlotte Charles was Ned's true love in life, a love destined to be difficult, mainly because he could never touch her. The facts were these: Charlotte had been offered a trip on a cruise in exchange for her assistance in the transportation of a small box from Tahiti to the United States. Her involvement led directly to her murder and unceremonious disposal overboard.
Upon the return of her body to the United States, and more specifically, Papen County, Ned found himself involved in the investigation of poor Charlotte Charles' death. Accompanied by Emerson Cod, a private detective who'd found out Ned's power by accident one day, Ned headed to the funeral home where Charlotte's body was to be put on display before burial. Ned put his supernatural ability to use, reviving Charlotte for a minute. Or what he thought would be a minute. Paralyzed by nostalgia and memories of his relationship with young Charlotte Charles, Ned had found himself reluctant to put her back to her eternal sleep. As the minute passed, Nature reclaimed its equilibrium with the death of the general manager in the same building.
So it was understandable that Ned was more than a little nervous to unexpectedly find himself on a mysterious cruise ship. He hadn't been asked to pick up a little box, or drop one off, or any variance involving a person carrying a box on a cruise ship. Good news, he supposed. But if it wasn't that, then what was it? He'd never carried a gun but right now he almost wished he did. Not that he'd probably shoot it much anyway - killing people wouldn't give him any answers to the questions he planned to ask the first person he saw, such as: "Who are you, and why am I here?" Or some variant thereof.
It was just then that the pie maker observed what seemed to be a communication device, similar in appearance to that rather nifty device called a Treo. There was a door as well, but Ned was not sure he wanted to see what was outside that door quite yet. If there was a communication device, he reasoned, there must be someone to communicate with. It would only make sense, after all. (He often asked himself when life had ever made sense anyway, but that was a thought perhaps better left for when he'd sorted this unfortunate incident out and made his way back home.) He picked it up, and after a moment's inspection, shrugged and held it up.
"Uh, hello? Anybody there? I seem to be trapped in what would appear to be a hotel room, but with a nautical window which would suggest that I am not, in fact, in a hotel but on a cruise ship instead." A pause. "Not a tragedy in its own right, mind, because thousands of people every year buy tickets to go on a cruise ship. Preferably somewhere tropical with lots of palm trees and pretty women in hay skirts, and to demonize an entire industry based on that would be rather judge-y. That said...I cannot recall buying a cruise ship ticket, or in fact wanting to go on a cruise in the first place."
Upon the return of her body to the United States, and more specifically, Papen County, Ned found himself involved in the investigation of poor Charlotte Charles' death. Accompanied by Emerson Cod, a private detective who'd found out Ned's power by accident one day, Ned headed to the funeral home where Charlotte's body was to be put on display before burial. Ned put his supernatural ability to use, reviving Charlotte for a minute. Or what he thought would be a minute. Paralyzed by nostalgia and memories of his relationship with young Charlotte Charles, Ned had found himself reluctant to put her back to her eternal sleep. As the minute passed, Nature reclaimed its equilibrium with the death of the general manager in the same building.
So it was understandable that Ned was more than a little nervous to unexpectedly find himself on a mysterious cruise ship. He hadn't been asked to pick up a little box, or drop one off, or any variance involving a person carrying a box on a cruise ship. Good news, he supposed. But if it wasn't that, then what was it? He'd never carried a gun but right now he almost wished he did. Not that he'd probably shoot it much anyway - killing people wouldn't give him any answers to the questions he planned to ask the first person he saw, such as: "Who are you, and why am I here?" Or some variant thereof.
It was just then that the pie maker observed what seemed to be a communication device, similar in appearance to that rather nifty device called a Treo. There was a door as well, but Ned was not sure he wanted to see what was outside that door quite yet. If there was a communication device, he reasoned, there must be someone to communicate with. It would only make sense, after all. (He often asked himself when life had ever made sense anyway, but that was a thought perhaps better left for when he'd sorted this unfortunate incident out and made his way back home.) He picked it up, and after a moment's inspection, shrugged and held it up.
"Uh, hello? Anybody there? I seem to be trapped in what would appear to be a hotel room, but with a nautical window which would suggest that I am not, in fact, in a hotel but on a cruise ship instead." A pause. "Not a tragedy in its own right, mind, because thousands of people every year buy tickets to go on a cruise ship. Preferably somewhere tropical with lots of palm trees and pretty women in hay skirts, and to demonize an entire industry based on that would be rather judge-y. That said...I cannot recall buying a cruise ship ticket, or in fact wanting to go on a cruise in the first place."